A confiding survivor found in St. John’s
Most bird species are wary of humans and often frustratingly hard to see well. The field guides refer to the exceptions as “confiding.”
I can understand not wanting to call them friendly or tame, but when I read “confiding,” I expect the bird to tell me some dark secret such as, “Hey, I’m afraid of flying.”
The St. John’s pink-footed goose, currently in its third month in Newfoundland, is the poster-bird for confiding. First reported on Aug. 31, this species is a great rarity anywhere in North America.
I headed out early on Nov. 1 hoping to find the bird near the Signal Hill visitor’s centre, where it had been reported to be feeding on the grass. Since most off-course rarities are tired, confused and stressed it is always important to give them lots of room. So as not to add to the stress, I dutifully sat across the road and well away from the bird. After a few minutes of ignoring me, it looked up from its feeding, walked across the road, climbed the curb and sat down beside me on the grass. I couldn’t have been more surprised if it had asked me for a cigarette. Wanting to be friendly, I plucked some grass and offered it a handful, but it declined. Apparently, it just wanted company.
It occurred to me that this bird was so tame it could be an escaped farmyard goose, but then I remembered the rare white-fronted goose that had showed up years ago on the Pippy Park golf course. That bird spent a few days following golfers around the course. These two geese species come to us from Iceland and Greenland where they may never have seen a human before and therefore have no natural fear of us.
We tend to think that a wary bird is smarter than a friendly one, but each species has evolved to succeed by its own strategies. A so-called stupid species, like the spruce grouse, has succeeded for thousands of years by remaining perfectly still in the presence of danger. Attributing human characteristics such as “smart” or “stunned as me arse” to animals is called being anthropomorphic.
Another complicating factor for out-of-place birds is that a normally shy species will be forced to become tamer when it is desperate for food or rest. St. John’s this January has had several warblers that failed to migrate in the fall and have ended up battling for survival when the cold deprived them of their normal insect diet. Birders provided various alternate food sources which helped the warblers survive, at least for a time. As a result, the desperate birds would feed in the presence of people, despite their wariness in more normal situations. Once again, giving them space is essential. These birds are fighting for their lives.
Sadly, most of the lingering warblers have now died off. The Kelly’s Brook northern parula was last seen on Jan. 10. The very rare hermit warbler from western North America survived until the big storm of Jan. 17-18, when it is presumed to have perished along with a tough little Wilson’s warbler. Insect-eaters have the least chance of surviving a Newfoundland winter.
The berry-eating species have better odds. The lingering robins and waxwings will do well until the dogberries are gone, usually sometime in February, and then their survival depends on the severity of the winter and the availability of other berry sources.
Over-wintering seed eaters such as the various sparrow species have a good chance, especially if they can settle in at a well-stocked feeder.
And that brings us back to today’s featured bird, the pink-footed goose. This species loves grass, but can do well on all kinds of vegetation, both on land and under water. It can even eat berries and buds as well as various seeds and grains. The St. John’s bird moved for much of November to the Bally Haly golf course, until the grass became covered in snow. It now alternates between open areas of water at the west end of Long Pond and the west end of Quidi Vidi Lake where people feed the waterfowl. If you visit it at Quidi Vidi, be sure not to confuse it with the much bigger domestic goose that has been master of ceremonies at Quidi Vidi Lake for the past several years.
My guess is that sometime in early spring, the pinkfooted goose will disappear, still in healthy condition. Will it find its way back to Iceland where it can regale its buddies with stories of the nerdy birder that offered it a handful of grass? Will it say that Newfoundlanders are confiding?
Of all the fall rarities, it gets my vote as the most likely to survive.